Tuesday, 11 January 1994
How’s it going? I mailed your first Cleo magazine yesterday, but didn’t have time to put a letter in. I must say, to my shame, that I had a flick through it. Well, what I saw was enough for me to be sworn off bananas for life! (see the “Banana Smooshie” recipe in the “How to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed” piece.) And that “Weenie or Whopper” piece was plain insulting. I can’t say I actually read it but the title and pictures were enough for me. If you saw an article in Playboy called “Vast Vagina or Puny Pussy ”, I think you’d be a bit upset too.
As you can guess, I’m a bit bored at work today. I’ll send some more old Cleos from home soon along with a few Cosmo’s that have been lying around. How’s work? It’s so hot here, and I have to have my fan oscillating all the time to disperse my office-mate’s farts which he distributes liberally all through the day. Thankfully they never reach me, but their birth is always rung in by the proud father. (Have a cigar, it’s on me!) so I’m always aware of them lurking……..somewhere.
Speaking of farts great and small, I saw Winky at Mum’s on Sunday. What a little fatty! Mum was well, and she seized the opportunity with utmost opportunism and kept me busy with little household tasks especially suited and crafted to suit my fields of expertise (see J cleaning gutters, pruning the Grevillea, even stacking the attic!!) Purchase your very own “J Action Man” from all good toy stores. I didn’t mind really, except for the attic – I’ve never seen a pure white spider before. Certainly not that close anyway. Winky was well, he seemed to be having fun and getting along with the neighbouring dogs quite well. They were taking turns at eating and throwing a lizard they’d found followed by some World Championship Bottom Sniffing.
So have you and Jack got your dog yet? If so, who won out? Did you get a feather duster with legs or a real dog, the kind that can leave bogs the size of a deflated football on the pavement? We’ve got a cat now, did I tell you? It’s called Spooky and her owner (Belinda – housemate and Irresponsibility Consultant) never feeds the poor bugger so I always end up giving the skinny little blighter some of Belinda’s food from the fridge.
Did I tell you I got a deadlock on my door? It’s because of Belinda’s boyfriend Roger, who shall henceforth be referred to solely as Captain Dodgy. Well, since he arrived on the scene, money has been going missing and so have wallets and all sorts of stuff. Now we could never actually accuse him because there was always someone else around who could have done it. However I got the dirty fucker in the end. Just call me Jessica. Jessica Fletcher. On the day before New Year’s Eve, only Leah, Belinda, Captain Dodgy and I were in the house, and – hey Presto – my bottle of vodka goes missing. Caught in my snare, HA! Only problem was that I was left sans alcohol for New Year’s Eve. Dirty piece of shit. Anyway, I’m going to kick him out, banish him from the house tonight. He smells too, have I told you? It’s indescribable. It’s not a smell, it’s a stench, it is an unholy odour rising from the bowel of the demesne of the Horned One to seep under Belinda’s bedroom door and befoul the rest of the house, It’s his feet you see. Sweatier than Barbara Cartland’s thighs in a Kenyan heatwave. I don’t want to think about it.
And on that note, I think I’d better be off, bloodshed awaits.